Sirius' Fall
by EmptySurface
Summary: "How old are you, Sirius?" Albus asked slowly, carefully. Sirius glared at him, trying to figure out if this was some sort of test. Or if the man had finally cracked and gone senile. "I'm thirty six." He stated impatiently. "Why is this suddenly important?" "Because the last time I checked, Mr Black, you were sixteen." One-shot.


Sirius felt the curse hit.

_Shit_.

His gaze was filled with the sight of his madly grinning cousin, her glee all but written out on her face. He had been standing in front of the veil.

_I'm dead_.

The realisation coursed through him faster than one could blink an eye. His eyes snapped to the face of his oldest friend. Remus was standing on the other side of the room, not too far from him. His face was too pale and an anguished, pained look entered his features as he realised what was about to happen. Then Harry was there, filling his vision up. Harry wore a look of pure denial.

"Sirius!" He could hear the faint exclamation, eve over the sound of battle.

Harry would be all alone now. He didn't doubt for a second that both James and Lily would give him a piece of their minds once he got through to the other side. Time seemed to crawl at an unbelievably slow pace as he fell backwards, back curving to brace for the floor. He knew that is wasn't necessary.

_I won't even have a funeral_.

The thought flitted through his mind in a detached sort of way. He knew, of course, what the veil did. It would kill him as surely as any Avada Kedavra, but there would be no body. Nothing to mourn over, but a memory. Quite fitting, actually. He had never really been there when Harry had needed him; why change that in death? He felt surprisingly bitter.

And then he saw the hopeless fear on Harry's face. The hurt and anger and utter heart-wrenching grief. All gathered just beneath the denial, the refusal to believe he would be gone, in all but a moment.

Bella cackled like the lunatic she was as the veil swallowed him up.

And then everything went dark, and quiet and still.

Sirius woke up screaming at the top of his lungs, flinging whatever it was that was covering him to the side. He wondered, briefly, why anyone had bothered to tuck him into bed, before running headfirst out the door. He hadn't been alone in the room, and the other occupants had been startled awake by his scream and sudden departure. He knew where he was. What he didn't understand was; _why?_

"Impossible." He kept mumbling the word to himself as he careened through the castle. He knew of only one person able to answer his questions.

He had died.

He knew that. Yet here he was. Still breathing and feeling, thinking, running and very much _alive_. The moment he laid eyes on the ugly gargoyle guarding the entrance to professor Dumbledore's office, Sirius increased his speed.

"Let me through! I need to speak with Dumbledore!" And, as if the statue could hear the horror filled urgency in his voice, it jumped aside. Sirius was up the stairs in the blink of an eye, bursting through the door in a matter of seconds.

"Albus!" He shouted.

Of course, there had been no need for him to shout, as the headmaster was sitting in the chair behind his desk, looking both startled and not a bit worried.

"Mr Black. Why are you out of bed? And in my office?" He didn't sound too surprised or perturbed. He seemed to take it all in stride with an inner strength and calmness Sirius would have recognized anywhere.

"Where's Harry?" He demanded, effectively ignoring the headmaster's questions. Some of the portraits behind his desk voiced their outrage over this, but was silenced with a glance from the old wizard.

"Who's Harry?" He asked calmly, eyeing him as if he thought he might be sick.

Sirius fumed, worry and adrenaline surging inside him. "Harry! You know who that is!" He gestured wildly with his arms as he spoke, too riled up to really care as he accidentally tipped one of the fragile-looking tables and its contents onto the floor. "He was there. And what about Voldemort?" He whirled on the man, having been in the process of pacing back and forth. "He was on his way there. You told me so yourself!" He shouted at the infuriating man.

And Albus was infuriating. He was sitting there, as calm an composed as always, when Harry -his Godson!- was in danger!

"Mr Black." Professor Dumbledore began firmly. "I believe you have had quite an unnerving nightmare."

"It wasn't a nightmare!" Sirius screeched. He was many things; irresponcible, a tad bit insane after the years in Azkaban and occasionally very immature. But he would never -_ever_- be able to forget about Harry. Or made believe he had simply thought him up in his sleep. It was the thought of Harry that had grounded him to reality even under the heavy influence of Dementors. For thirteen years! That wasn't some mere dream.

Some of his emotion seemed to show in his eyes, because Dumbledore sighed and inquired again. "Then, who is Harry?" His voice soft. As if he would startle Sirius if he raised his voice.

"You know who Harry is." Sirius ground out. "Harry. My _Godson_!" He shouted in the man's face. "Who's been kept from me all year, on your orders!" He continued. Might as well take the opportunity to voice a few complaints. "You insist on keeping him in the dark! AND LOOK WHERE THAT BROUGHT US! THE DEPATMENT OF MYSTERIES!"

To say that Sirius was angry was an understatement. And the fear gripping at his heart wasn't making things better. A sharp, calculating spark had lit in Dumbledore's eyes now, and he sat up straighter than before.

"I sense that we are not quite on the same page here, Mr Black." Albus' steely voice cut through his emotional storm like lightning. "Calm down and explain." There was clear command in his voice.

Sirius was left standing in the middle of the office floor, panting heavily. He glared angrily at the headmaster, but dutifully took a deep breath, trying to calm down. If only a little. He was interrupted as he was about to explain by the arrival of a harried-looking Minerva McGonagall.

"Minerva!" Sirius jumped towards her. "Is Harry alright?"

Minerva was too shocked by the use of her first name to immediately reprimand him, and turn to the headmaster when Albus caught her eye. She snapped out of her shock and strode across the room.

"I came to tell you that Mr Black was seen running through the castle and that his friends came to my office, looking for him." She paused briefly, eyeing the young man before her with scowling disapproval. "But that seems rather redundant now, I'm afraid." She wasn't at all pleased with being woken in the middle of the night by three clearly distraught students.

"Thank you, Minerva." Albus inclined his head, eyes still fixed on Sirius.

Sirius on his part, couldn't make himself remain still and began to pace back and forth again. He hated small rooms. All thanks to Azkaban, and he realised now, what a small room the headmaster's office was.

"What am I even doing here?" He suddenly demanded, tired of the building silence in the room. He was well aware of Albus' and Minerva's heavy gazes resting on him, but he didn't care. In fact, he didn't understand how they could be so damn calm.

"Then where are you supposed to be?" Professor Dumbledore asked calmly.

Sirius eyed him as if he had gone insane. "The Department of Mysteries." He bit out. That was obvious, wasn't it? Harry was _there_. He ignored McGonagall's bewildered look and continued. "I was fighting Bellatrix after we found Harry and the lot. She managed to get me with a curse and I fell backwards into the..." His voice tapered off, feeling suddenly uncertain.

"What did you fall into?" Albus asked. Anyone else might have sent him off to St. Mungo's already, as it looked like Minerva was tempted to do.

"...The Veil." He finished lamely, coming to an awkward stop in the middle of the room. His gaze was fixed on the wall, not really seeing it. "I ought to be dead." He stated harshly. "Why am I not dead?" He demanded of the two professors, ignoring Minerva's gasp and the utter lack of a sparkle in Albus' eyes.

"How old are you, Sirius?" Albus asked slowly, carefully.

Sirius glared at him, trying to figure out if this was some sort of test. Or if the man had finally cracked and gone senile. "I'm thirty six." He stated impatiently. "Why is this suddenly important?" He asked.

"Because the last time I checked, Mr black, you was sixteen." Albus' voice was the epitome of serenity.

Sirius froze. He stared numbly at first the headmaster, and then slowly turned to Minerva.

"That can't be true." His faint words could as well have been shouted, for all that they resounded in the room. He stared at the two people he had come to trust more than anyone -save Remus- over the years. It couldn't be true. He wasn't sixteen. He hadn't been that young in a _very _long time. And something of the haunting shadows of Azkaban must have shown in his eyes, because worry and concern flashed in both professors' eyes.

Minerva looked like she was about to tell him to sit down before he fainted, but was interrupted by a very familiar voice.

"Is it alright for us to enter now, professor?" Remus asked hesitantly, walking into the room. Sirius snapped towards him, his neck smarting at the sudden movement.

"Moony." He breathed, and then wrapped the werewolf up in a tight hug. He never wanted to see that agonized look on his friend's face, ever again! He'd make sure of it.

Remus looked surprised, and a little embarrassed, but didn't otherwise complain. "It's nice to see you too Sirius." He chuckled awkwardly, patting his back a few times.

And then a miracle happened.

James walked through the door. Sirius abruptly released Remus, and could do nothing more than stare at his friend. His eyes took every detail, every single little thing that made James _James_. He must be real. The look of sleep lingering in his features and the more-than-usual mussed hair, combined with the palpable concern convinced him of that.

"James." Sirius said. And there was such raw emotion -guilt, sorrow, isolation, joy and even painstaking shame- that several of the people in the room flinched.

"What is it, Sirius?" James simply took it all in stride and studied him worriedly.

Sirius blinked. This was the first time in fifteen years he saw his closest friend, and he asked him how _he_ was doing? Get a grip, Padfoot! Sirius forcibly shook himself, hurried across the room and gripped James' arm in a firm grip. He had to make sure this wasn't an illusion, or a dream. His friend felt as real under his fingers as anything else, muscles and bones all pulsing with life. Sirius eyed a moment longer, before wrapping him in a bone-crushing embrace.

Startled, James let out a short laugh. Sirius then sat him down again, not even having realised he had actually lifted him up. He gave him a relieved grim that effectively froze on his face when he spotted the third person who had stepped into the room.

Pettigrew was looking up at him worriedly.

Sirius practically growled, but forced himself to remain still. He couldn't really strangle the traitor in front of their head of house, as well as the headmaster. Or could he? Sirius contemplated the question before the decision was taken out of his hands.

"You three should head back to bed. I have a few things to talk to Mr Black about." Albus cut in, almost sounding worried. Sirius sent the old man a scathing glower. He was sending the traitor away! James gave Sirius a last odd look, before nodding and ushering his friends out the door. Minerva stayed put.

"Now." Albus said, eyeing Sirius warily. "Sit down and explain." It wasn't a suggestion. Sirius glared at the door a moment longer before letting out a heavy sigh. He walked over to the nearest chair and began to explain.

"James and Lily got married after graduation." He huffed, still glancing occasionally at the door. "They had a son; Harry. Voldemort killed James and Lily trying to get to Harry, just like the prophesy said he would, but he couldn't kill him. The curse rebounded and killed him instead." Sirius said, staring dejectedly at the surface of the desk between them. To their credit, neither Albus nor Minerva tried to interrupt. "He got to them because of Pettigrew." He spat the name out with such hatred it made Minerva flinch. "The rat sold them out to Voldemort!" Sirius growled. "And then he framed me for their murders, getting me branded as a Death Eater and thrown into Azkaban for thirteen years." The rest of the story came unbidden after that. His stunned audience listening closely, hanging onto every word, as Sirius told them what he knew about his godson's life. How he had helped him escape from the Ministry's clutches on Buckbeak. How he had survived the Triwizard Tournament and how they finally had ended up in the Department of Mysteries.

At least this time, things would end up differently.

Yes. Deffinitely.


End file.
